


you must forgive me

by TheSpaceCoyote



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feelings Realization, M/M, Reluctant Caretaker Hux, Sad Kylo Ren, Shaving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-17 15:18:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18101144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpaceCoyote/pseuds/TheSpaceCoyote
Summary: Armitage Hux doesn't care at all about the well-being of his oft-grating coworker Ben Solo. It doesn't bother him that he hasn't seen him come to work in nine days.So why is he heading over to Ben's address to check up on him?Well. He really doesn't have any idea.





	you must forgive me

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea for a few weeks now and I'm...I'm not sure if I like what's come out of it? I feel like it doesn't really make sense but...no reason to not put it out there when it's this long. 
> 
> I wanted to write a fic where Hux somewhat reluctantly finds himself taking care of a depressed, disheveled Kylo in a modern setting, and this is what came from that!

Ben Solo has been absent from work for nine days now.

Hux had first made note of it on what he later figured out was the third day. Ben worked at the cubicle a row behind him, slightly out of sight but not out of mind enough for Hux not to notice that his burly, perpetually late coworker hadn’t bothered him in some time. When he’d peered into Ben’s cubicle on his lunch break, he’d found it deserted, with not even his book bag slung sloppily over the chair and the wastebasket suspiciously empty of the stained coffee cups that accumulate there. Hux didn’t really begrudge him the caffeine habit, but _really_ , Ben couldn’t bother investing in a reusable cup the way he had?

Hux had tried putting his coworker’s absence out of his mind for the next few days, assuming a nasty cold or unexpected vacation was at fault. He almost welcomed the reprieve, as he didn’t particularly like Ben’s presence, nor his incessant need to make conversation with Hux whenever they had the misfortune of concurrent break time.

On the eighth day he asked Unamo, who worked in HR, whether she knew what had happened with Ben. He was grossly overstepping protocol, but he knew that she was fond of him and he wasn’t above using other’s feelings to get the information that he wanted. And while she, in a credit to her professionalism, didn’t reveal any specifics, she _did_ inform him that one Ben Solo had applied for LOA four days ago.

Hux had resolved to leave it at that—at least until late in the evening, where he stayed up staring at his ceiling, wondering _why_ Ben had suddenly decided to take leave from the job that Hux understood, from the many conversations in which he’d been held hostage, was _very_ important to him.

So on the ninth day Hux packs his laptop into his bag, fills his coffee cup at the little public caddy, and takes a bracing sip—before leaving for his car and driving off in the direction of Ben’s apartment.

He has his coworker’s address in his phone, thanks to that unfortunate period where the transmission in his car had suffered more than a few hiccups, landing his only practical means of transportation in the shop for a solid few days. A disaster that—unfortunately—Ben had overheard while Hux had been complaining to Phasma, leading to the brokerage of a carpool agreement that Hux found he couldn’t back out of. 

All Hux remembers from those few days was that Ben drove like a fucking maniac, in his car that seemed seated _far_ too low to the ground and the music that nearly blasted Hux’s eardrums out of his skull. Once his car was fixed and out of the shop, Hux felt like he’d aged a decade.

The experience hadn’t exactly _endeared_ him to his coworkers any further, and he isn’t looking forward to when Ben has car problems and decides to call in the favor Hux now, apparently, _owes_ him. He’d even personally input his own address into Hux’s phone, in a brazen reminder. 

Honestly, at this point, Hux doesn’t think it’s a stretch to say he _despises_ Ben. So why is he bothering going to his place to check on him?

Hell if he knows. Maybe the man’s tardiness just bothers him _that_ much. Those who call Hux petty aren’t exactly _wrong_ , just redundant.

Soon he parks his car on the side of the street across from Ben’s apartment building and makes his way into the lobby, slipping through after helping to prop the door open for an older gentleman cradling two cumbersome bags of groceries. The man thanks him, but Hux is already striding for the elevator and punching in the number for Ben’s floor.

It’s a decently luxurious complex, for somebody who works the same modest job Hux does. He quickly quells the pang of jealousy—Hux’s home is _perfectly_ serviceable, and in any case he’d much rather possess a robust 401(k) than a spring for a fountain in the lobby and an exotic houseplant here and there.

 _507, 507, 507_ he repeats in his head as the elevator _dings_ , letting him out onto the proper floor in search of the correct unit. The hallway extends in both directions, with a convenient little placard identifying which apartment lie at which ends, like that of a common motel. Hux follows the lefthand hall, dress shoes thumping softly against the navy-blue carpet that matches his blazer a little too close for comfort as he browses for the right number, finding it emblazoned in silver just a couple doors down from the main elevator.

Hux roots foolishly in place for a moment, re-checking the address in his head just to make time, before taking a deep breath.

Before he can reconsider his decisions today he knocks primly on the door, sound echoing throughout the hallway. He raises his chin and shoulders, expectant, but no one answers his call. He shouldn’t have anticipated that Ben would answer promptly but it still annoys him. He’s taken a moment out of what should be his leisure time to check up on Ben’s welfare—something, he feels, should be _rewarded_. At least by the appearance of the malingerer in question.

Just when Hux wonders if his coworker is actually home, he hears a commotion on the other side of the door. A clatter of dishware, followed by loud, clunky footsteps, like whoever was walking wore shoes made of cement. He still debates leaving up until the point where the door clicks and swings inwards to reveal a disheveled, glowering Ben Solo.

Though there’s not much of a height difference between them—and Ben is slouching in a way to make it almost negligible—Hux suddenly feels smaller. Placed on the spot, like a child in a talent show.

“I—“ Hux starts, then nearly forgets the reason he even bothered showing up. Ben blinks at him, eyes aimless and a little rheumy, as if the light in the hallway stings him. What little Hux can see of the inside of the apartment looks dark.

“What are you doing here?” Ben’s voice sounds like it’s been dragged over gravel and left to rot in the rain. Hux struggles for his lost rationale, but all he can feel is a sudden flood of _pity_.

Ben looks far paler than Hux remembers, skin taken on almost a greenish tint, like storm clouds readying for disaster. His hair looks like it hasn’t been properly washed in days, straggling in limp waves around his face and over his neck. He wears a pair of dark jeans ripped at the left knee and a black hoodie clung with pearls of lint, and no socks or shoes.

“I—I thought—“ Hux coughs, still trying to get a proper sentence out. “—You haven’t been to the office in over a week.”

Ben’s large, untidy brows furrow together. He leans his forearm against the doorjamb, scruffy cheek nearly resting up against it.

“Why do you care?” Ben groans, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he closes his eyes, looking a little disappointed when he reopens them and Hux is still there. He exhales heavily over cracked lips, and Hux wrinkles his nose.

Lord. Ben _reeks_. He smells nearly as bad as he looks, and there’s not much pleasant to look at. Ben’s never been the crispest man in the office, but as is he looks like a teenager whose parents haven’t seen him in days. It’s a ridiculous lapse in hygiene, and Hux can’t stand it, so he steps forward until he’s nearly chest to chest with the other man.

“Because this is unseemly. Even for you.” Hux grabs Ben around the tricep, ignoring the firm flex of muscle beneath his palm. He hasn’t the time to be interested nor intimidated by his coworkers physique.

He drags Ben inside, letting the door fall shut behind them. He’s a little surprised at how readily Ben follows him, stumbling a little as his feet drag against the floor.

The apartment is as dark as Hux had anticipated, with the curtains drawn over the only window in the living room. A gasp of light peeks out but slats uselessly on the floor, leaving the rest of Ben’s living arrangement unlit and ghastly.

It’s a decently-sized place that Hux can easily imagine prepped and decorated for a full-color ad on the rental company’s website, but as is it looks dingy and claustrophobic. As if Ben hadn’t lifted a finger to properly clean it in some time.

“I can’t believe this.” Hux shakes his head, turning away from the disheveled apartment towards the culprit himself. “You’re a complete wreck. I thought you’d at least be taking a vacation or slacking off. Not degenerating into a feral state.”

Ben snorts, blowing indifferent air through his lips as he stares at a spot to the side of Hux’s head. He prickles at the lack of attention—Hux has _generously_ taken the time to make sure his coworker isn’t falling apart at the edges. He isn’t going to be ignored so readily.

“You smell,” Hux states tactlessly, tapping Ben’s cheek. “Come. You need a wash.”

Ben narrows his eyes, looking at Hux like he can’t believe he’s serious. But Hux once more grabs his arm, tugging him down a hallway branching off from the main living room, where he reasons a bathroom might be.

Hux steals a glance into a pitch-black room full of stifled air, moving onto the next when Ben softly murmurs “bed” and finally flicking on the lightswitch to find a bathroom. Thankfully—and somewhat surprisingly—it’s cleaner than the rest of the house, aside from the towels improperly draped over the rack.

“Here. Sit. I’ll start it for you.” Hux lets Ben go and crosses to the shower, cranking on the water and letting it splatter against the floor of the tub. 

Ben slouches atop the closed toilet lid, head bowed, numbly stroking his the forefinger of his right hand. He says nothing and seems to be able to sit up just fine, so Hux disregards him for now to turn on the shower.

He adjusts the dial and tests the water with his fingertips until it’s tepid, pushing aside the urge to dunk Ben under a hail of freezing water. While it might help snap him out of his fugue, it feels a little unnecessarily cruel, even for Hux.

Though it might be needed, as Ben’s grown even more inattentive in the interim, to the point where Hux thinks he’s fallen asleep for a moment. His head bows forward, hair over his face like dark leaves weeping down into his lap. He wilts slightly to the side, like he’s ready to fall right off the toilet entirely, slide to the floor and lie there like all his bones have melted into a puddle.

He looks—well, still _pathetic_ , but less like the conceited manchild Hux knows him to be and more like a sodden, sickly kitten found under an upturned box in the street. Hux has never had much of a nurturing instinct, but perhaps viewing Ben as some kind of feeble animal in need of proper care will help him stomach the unnecessary lengths he’s currently going to.

Hux bends over slightly, bracing one palm against his knee. He softens his voice as best he can, his other hand resting atop Ben’s knuckles.

“Can you stand? Or do you need my help?”

“Don’t need nothing.” Ben jerks his hand away, almost childishly, before slouching to his feet. Hux steps aside, fist curling and suddenly feeling a lot less sympathetic to his plight.

 _Never mind_. Hux isn’t going denigrate himself in order to play nursemaid to a grown man.

He leaves Ben to change out of his clothes and none-too-gently closes the bathroom door behind him. He couches his chin in his hands, trying to figure out what to do with himself while Ben showers.

He returns to the main room of the apartment, making his way into the kitchen. He flicks on the light, illuminating the linoleum floor and dark granite countertops, more otherwise respectable design choices marred by Ben’s lack of care. Hux frowns, stepping gingerly forth as he searches the kitchen for coffee. He finds nothing but dry goods and spices in the pantry, snacks stuffed above the fridge, a half-drained six pack inside.

Hux huffs when he eventually finds a sad bag of ground beans rolled up and stuffed inside the freezer. It’s surely stale, but he can use any caffeine he can get his hands on at the moment. 

Ben owns a surprisingly sophisticated coffee machine, one Hux has seen at the artisanal coffee house he frequents on the weekends. It _may_ make up for the quality of the beans, depending on how long they’ve been kept frozen.

Hux sweeps his eyes over Ben’s apartment as the coffee maker starts to bubble behind him, noting things he missed when he first forced his way inside. Through the little cutout in the wall separating the living room and kitchen he can see a couch set up across the way from a large, wall-mounted television that looks like it costs more than Hux’s last dental bill, as well as a fireplace mantel crested by a black nail that may have once hung a picture frame. The couch itself is large and grey and looks as if at one point it could have fit in some minimalist apartment dream, but it’s so sagged in the middle and laden with a mishmash of pillows and blankets that it’s nearly unrecognizable.

Indeed the living room is a bit of a mess, even more so with the kitchen where the trash can nearly overflows and the pots on the stove have what might have been rice stuck to the bottom.

Once the coffee pours into a heavy mug he borrows from the cabinet Hux perks up a bit, warmth helping to untangle his tight insides and transport him beyond the stifling dank of Ben’s apartment. He runs his fingers back through his hair and thinks of his own, humbler place, where Millicent has probably made her nest upon the armchair, waiting for him to come home and pamper her with treats and tender scratches under her chin Hux’s has always appreciated the autonomy of cats—eager for attention and affection when provided, but able to subsist on their own. She’s a balm to his stress, not a source.

In the distance he can hear the shower turn off. Hux sets the half-empty mug of coffee on the counter, where it’s sure to be forgotten, and walks down the hallway towards the bathroom. He knocks upon the door once, before opening it anyways.

Ben flinches when Hux enters, black towel blessedly wrapped around his hips. He doesn’t know if he could deal with the fallout if he saw his coworker _naked_. Surely such an image would haunt him at night for the rest of his life.

“Better?” Hux asks, out of a need to fill the awkward silence. He suddenly feels a little too warm under his work clothes, what with the condensation fogging up the small room. He considers taking off his blazer but stops himself, leaving it for now.

Ben shrugs, swiping the wet locks on his forehead and tucking the towel more securely about his waist, momentarily drawing Hux’s eyes to the flex of his abdomen before he snaps back. Ben’s face looks a little healthier, color forced to his cheeks thanks to the heat of the shower, but the scruff on his chin and jawline rankle Hux more now that it’s plastered against his skin like cross-hatched, messy lines.

Hux shaves every morning, diligently. If left unattended his chin easily overgrows into sloppy stubble, unbecoming of the image he wants to project. He keeps a collection of fine moisturizers at home that keep his skin smooth, clean, and professional, as it should be. Honestly, Ben could learn a thing or two from him. Whenever Hux feels down, a proper shower and primping routine gets him back in the pink in no time.

“What do you use to shave?” He presses down on Ben’s shoulders, disregarding the twitch of wet muscle beneath his palms, and leans him against the countertop. Ben half sits on the edge, fingers gripping the damp porcelain.

“Medicine cabinet,” is all he supplies as he watches Hux with a look that’s not quite suspicion. In the mirrored cabinet near the door Hux finds a can of shaving cream and a black and silver razor that looks as elegant as a Rolex. Hux usually shaves with a straight blade himself, but he recalls enough from his teenage years to properly wield the more typical kind.

Hux pulls up the cuffs of his blazer and lays the razor out on the counter beside Ben’s hip before shaking up the can of shaving cream. He sprays a small dollop into one hand before rubbing his palms together.

He cups Ben’s jaw, spreading the cream over the spiny hairs from his sideburn down to the tip of his chin then back up the other side. He dabs the last little bit above Ben’s lip, coating the wispy mustache hairs beginning to prickle there.

“Chin up,” Hux states as he rinses his hands in the sink, before picking up the razor. Ben says nothing but after a wary moment obeys, watching Hux from beneath heavy eyelids as he tilts his head back.

Hux wets the razor under the faucet before bringing it up to Ben’s chin. It slides effortlessly against it, cutting a trail out of the foamy cream and leaving the skin beneath bare of the messy hairs. Hux relaxes in satisfaction as he moves the blade over the jut of Ben’s chin, removing the stubble from where it starts to slope into his throat before moving onto his jaw.

Hux doesn’t quite understand why he’s going to these lengths to clean Ben up. The shower perhaps he could justify, considering he’d just left Ben to his own devices, but this was far different. There’s something _undeniably_ intimate about shaving another man, and while he could get away with it if Ben was a member of his family or a close friend, the fact that he’s lathering up his detested coworker’s face brings up a fresh, uncomfortable feeling he doesn’t have the ability to unravel right now.

He tilts Ben’s head to the side, cradling it with one hand as the other wields the razor, neatly clearing the overgrown hair away. Slowly, he starts to resemble the man Hux knows, less like the sullen shadow he’s witnessed so far today. When he’s finished Hux wets a hand towel, carefully wiping the remaining traces of cream and clipped hairs from Ben’s face, unable to resist brushing his fingers over the smooth skin.

It’s only then that Hux notes that their bodies have grown closer. One of Ben’s legs angles out between Hux’s calves, their hips nearly brushing together. This is the nearest they’ve ever been to one another, practically sharing the same air as Hux cups Ben’s face, admiring his work.

Though he looks a little tidier now something dark and lost still lingers in Ben’s eyes, their gaze still heavy with something unsettling Hux can’t quite put his finger on.

“Does that feel better?” He questions, tilting the other man’s chin back down. He hopes for a stronger reaction, but Ben only blinks, disconnected, and mumbles.

“…I don’t know.”

Hux flinches, leaning away like he’s been struck. His lips fall in a sour frown, annoyance finally spiking into anger at his words. He didn’t come all this way, take care of Ben like his _damned mother_ to be met with such indifference. It’s almost _callous_ in its disregard and despite himself and his usual unflappable countenance, he feels _hurt_.

“Of course. Why did I even bother?” Hux hisses, pushing himself off the counter and away from Ben. In his anger he nearly trips over his coworker’s legs, stumbling towards the bathroom door. Enough nonsense. He’s _done_ with this, done with Ben, done with giving a _damn_ about whether he holes himself up to die or not.

But just as Hux starts to open the door something strong wraps around his wrist and pulls him back with a grunt. Hux loses his balance as he turns to yell at Ben, his dress shoes slipping through a puddle on the bathroom floor.

Hux knocks the door open as he falls back, inadvertently pulling Ben on top of him. He shuts his eyes tight and braces for pain, but at the last moment Ben’s hand shoots up to cradle the back of Hux’s head, protecting his skull from impact against the hardwood floor.

He gasps, squirming underneath his coworker’s weight, still stunned by the fall. His hair fans out over Ben’s fingers, clothing stained by the clinging shower water now dripping off of him.

Ben breathes heavily, air hurried and humid on Hux’s face. He can practically hear his heart pounding, entire whole body shaking with adrenaline as if he’s pulled Hux back from the brink of some deadly cliff, out of the way of a speeding vehicle, rather than merely stopped him from bumping his head on the floor.

Ben’s lips quiver apart, struggling around words stuck between them. Abortive noises work out of his throat, unable to push past as he stares down at Hux, who stares back out of inability to look anywhere else while they’re this close.

“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry…you almost…” Ben’s fingers clench, digging into the hair on the back of Hux’s head. “I’m _sorry_.”

Ben’s strong, broad shoulders tremble, quaking with some unseen weight. His hair falls heavily, shielding his face from the sides and above but showing every trembling inch of his face to Hux, who lies beneath him.

“It was an accident, _Hux_ , I’m sorry…”

Ben clashes his teeth on the beginnings of a wail, thumb brushing repeatedly through Hux’s hair, like the tic of a distressed child. His other hand works into the lapel of Hux’s blazer, as if Ben’s not sure whether he wants to furiously throw him against a wall or hold him so tightly he could never let go.

Hux breathes deeply, chest constricted against the buttons of the dress shirt.

He has seen men break down in front of him. He’s walked in on a coworker he recalls only lasting a few months, sitting down in the middle of the office bathroom, with his knees drawn to his chest and his fingers splayed, claw-like, in front of his face, as if he couldn’t properly conceive them through his tears. He’s seen his father, red-cheeked and wheezing through a breathing mask, realize his skin and bones would easily be outlived by his son’s resentment, that the legacy of his blood he treasured so deeply would perish when Armitage did. He’s seen, from a distance, a figure besuited in navy blue to make him stand out against the morning sky take a final step out into the air off a mid-rise building jutting out over the city’s main side street, then scowled about how he’d _surely_ be late to the office now.

He’s seen his own face in the mirror, studied the depths of the dark circles under his eyes, resolved to never let them define him. Never let others see the weaknesses he knows hide in the crevasses of his skin, beneath the layers of his clothes.

And now Ben looms over him, face crumbling into tears that cling to his long lashes and drip messily down his cheeks. He’d seen men break down in front of him but never has one been this close.

“Don’t go… _please_ …don’t go…”

Hux feels intensely as if Ben’s not quite talking to him, words passing through him in some desperate attempt to reach ears that may have long stopped listening. He doesn’t know what’s happened to Ben, what’s caused this sudden degradation, this outburst of emotion after nearly an hour of flat indifference. Those questions feel best reserved for later, when they’re planted on Ben’s sagging couch with fresh cups of expired coffee in hand and the sunlight filtering in through the cracked shutters.

“I won’t…” Hux whispers, allowing genuine affection into his voice for the first time today. He lifts his hand, brushing up underneath Ben’s chin and feeling a spot of tangy wetness, where he must have nicked him earlier without noticing.

“I won’t leave you.”

When Ben leans in and kisses him—like a heavy cloud descending upon the hapless earth, washing away the thin, illusory crust to free the unstable soil beneath—it’s wet and sloppy, outpouring in naked need like a teenager’s first. Hux braces a hand against Ben’s chest, protesting noises smothered on his lips as he falters, lets him slip the tip of his tongue past his lips. 

Ben smells of the shaving cream’s foamy bergamot and the ionic tinge of the shower’s spray, though both can’t mask the man’s natural odor, far more pleasant than it’d been before.

Hux hasn’t been kissed in what feels like years— _properly_ , he means, not just some formality of lips to brush past and disregard in favor of more carnal pleasures, as if a mere kiss doesn’t have the power to draw two individuals closer, to seal cracks of misunderstanding and disdain that have kept them apart. But then again, no one has ever tried for any kind of intimacy with Armitage Hux, his defenses too prickly and insensate, insides too unworthy of the effort.

Hux’s hand has invisibly snaked up to rest on the back of Ben’s neck sometime during their kiss, and now he rubs the wet hairs at the nape, twining one particularly wavy lock between his thumb and forefinger and grounding himself. They stay gripping each other even when they part, both finally panting, the breath they stole from one another not enough.

Ben’s dark eyes have widened, lips parted like he’s surprised at what he’s done, and that Hux has dared reciprocate a kiss he probably expected to be spurned. The boundaries between them vacillate, tempted to fuse.

Desperation still lingers on Ben’s face, so Hux lifts his hand, brushes his fingers against his freshly-shaven chin, wondering how long it’ll be before he finds stubble there, rough and exposed and in need of care once more.

“You should put on some clothes first,” Hux whispers, gently stroking Ben’s face, “before we do anything else.”

The towel has remained wrapped around Ben’s hips in some sort of miracle, though Hux thinks he might be a little less traumatized now if he sees what’s concealed beneath but—later, _later_.

Ben blinks, before glancing down between them.

“You’re…you’re right…” He loosens his fingers from Hux’s hair, laying his head gingerly upon the floor as he sits up. Hux props himself up on his elbows, suddenly feeling self-conscious at their compromising position, but not enough to squirm away until Ben rises himself and pulls the towel more securely about his hips.

Hux smooths his hand over his hair, brushing over the furrows left by Ben’s fingertips. He sits up all the way, back smarting a little bit from the fall as he tries to push himself to his feet, only for a shy hand to reach out to him.

Ben’s fingers curl, as if worried Hux might rebuke him for his gesture, but after a moment he reaches up to take Ben’s hand, feeling the strength return to it as he helps Hux to his feet.

“Thank you,” Hux breathes, feeling a little heady from the sudden change in position. He rests his other hand against Ben’s bicep, balancing.

Their proximity feels less awkward now, less like two coworkers glancing off one another like unscathed steel fenders and more like two men struggling in the tide of their lives, finally daring to bridge out and cope with the brokenness inside them.

“Thank _you_ ,” Ben mumbles, gently squeezing Hux’s hand. “I…I feel a little better now.”

And Hux’s frustration has already started to ebb, chased by the kiss but now it trickles away entirely and _hell_ he even manages a smile—one that’s genuine, that rises in his cheeks and even reaches his eyes.

“Glad to hear it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if this was kind of bad, I'm not too happy with it. But I appreciate you taking the time to read!
> 
> Hit me up on [Tumblr](http://thethespacecoyote.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/heir_of_breath7/).


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